My Old Church

A. Unabashed Pacifist:

Religion that justifies killing in God’s name is a shield for tribalism; it contains no spiritual core.

B. Unabashed Christian:

Holy One,

Nuthatches flit at the feeder.
Morning light filters green through the trees.
Overnight rains cleared the air and refreshed plants and soil.
And I, lowly or grand as I am, get to enjoy these marvels.
Life is absolute blessing.
Amen

C. Un-quoting Jesus:

“What do I think of Roman civilization? It might be a good idea.”

[Gandhi got the idea from Him? I don’t think so…]

D. Blog: Have You Heard the One About…?

A man had lived stranded and alone on an island for many years, surviving on grit and ingenuity, even constructing a few small buildings. Finally, a passing ship noticed the buildings and sent a crew ashore to find out about the buildings that should not have been on a deserted island.

The man happily greeted the shore party, and they asked him to show them around and tell about how he’d managed to live those 10 years on his own. He took them to one building and told them about his “house.” A bed, a table, a stool, an improvised water container.

The second building, he explained, was his church. He was a faithful Christian and regular worship attender. He liked his church – the sermons were pretty good, if he did say so himself.

“And what about the structure over there?” they asked as they departed the small hut.

“Oh, that’s my old church,” he replied.

[Shared in appreciation for Andy Summers, who died recently, and loved to tell jokes and stories, including this one I heard in one of his Sunday school classes.]